


True Strength

by Teuton



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teuton/pseuds/Teuton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talon lives and dies by the blade, seeking no other comforts besides the gold in his pocket, the food in his stomach, the blade in his hand, and the stench of newly spilled blood in the air. He is a survivor, a lone wolf, a true assassin. He believes that he has become the pinnacle of strength, but is taken in by the Du Couteau family where he learns what true strength really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Strength

The slums of Noxus.

Filth and refuse scattered about the streets, left by those who called the desolate hellhole home. Muddy water dripped from the multitude of lead pipes that hung overhead, the only source of questionably sanitary water for miles around. Food in any kind of quality was a rarity as men and rats alike fought tooth and nail for the scraps they found. The sun never showed its face in the underground that was known simply as the Undercity. Consequently, a chilling bite filled the air, penetrating the threadbare pieces of tattered clothing. In short, the living conditions were abysmal.

A stark contrast to the opulence of this social gathering.

Extravagance.

That was the nobility of Noxus summed up in one word.

Gilded halls adorned with ridiculous amounts of detail and a number of mirrors so that the more fortunate born of Noxus would be able to admire their finery and the show they put on. Ludicrously expensive galas and balls were thrown every week, much to your annoyance, but social protocol required you to attend these events lest you gain the ire of some nameless baron or countess.

It was all so wasteful. The gold could have been thrown into the national treasury for use by the state, the buildings were obstructions in the city: where one could place some building of practicality there was an abomination that only served to entertain the stupidly rich.

Still, they were more than just eye-candy for the upper class of Noxus to "Ooh" and "Aah" at. They were also battlefields. Here, the daggers and clubs of the commoners were discarded for the more subtle and more dangerous weapons of words, intentions, insinuations, threats and all the trappings of political maneuvering. Here, your conduct was scrutinized by Noxus' 1%-those who wielded disproportionate amounts of power. Power that could cause your vision of a future Noxus to collapse before it could materialize.

So, you sit in front of the nobility whom you so detest, sacrificing your present comfort for the sake of the future.

You have waited ten years for this. What is another year to you?

 

You wake up in a field of flowers. A field of blood red roses sprawling out to the horizon, the emerging sun signaling the start of a new day whilst painting the sky with an assortment of colors, chasing away the vestiges of the night.

Strange, you cannot recall how you got here, nor why you would have reason to venture out to such a location.

"Kavyn," you begin, "what are we doing out-"

Your sentence ends abruptly as you set your sights upon the sleeping figure that is most definitely not male.

She lays upon the ground, her flaming red hair almost indistinguishable from the roses she rests on. Her lithe frame accentuated by the tight-fitting outfit she wears; her creamy, delectable skin serving as the backdrop for her pink lips bearing a slight, almost unnoticeable smirk.

You remain silent as her eyes begin to flutter open, her long eyelashes unveiling the barest hints of a pair of radiant emerald pools shimmering with affection.

Then a gentle smile forms on her face, and she whispers, "Talon."

 

Your eyes open, and you take in the dull gray that imprisons you.

You are immersed in the tattered remnants of an already threadbare blanket. It appears that the vermin had gotten to it during the night, gnawing the material for any form of sustenance that would last them another day.

Not that you could blame them, you and they were similar in many ways.

You turn around and slap the body next to you none too carefully.

"Get up Kavyn."

Your companion grumbles to himself but stumbles upright, splashing the contents of a nearby pothole onto his face.

You unsheath your one treasured possession, an eighteen inch blade made of polished Damascus steel with wicked protrusions and ornamented by demonic eyes of sapphire. As your inspection of the weapon, the harsh gonging sound in the distance and the flaring of oil lamps in the distance signal the beginning of a new night.

"Ah reality, how I detest you."


End file.
